By discipline endeavour to grow meek As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek. Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side; Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice; And not alone harsh tyranny would cease, But unoffending creatures find release From qualified oppression, whose defence Rests on a hollow plea of recompence; Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect. Witness those glances of indignant scorn From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn The kindness that would make him less forlorn; Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued,
His look of pitiable gratitude!
Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles,
Where day departs in pomp, returns with smiles - To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land,
As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned; A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats For Gods in council, whose green vales, Retreats Fit for the Shades of Heroes, mingling there To breathe Elysian peace in upper air.
Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave, Stone-walls a Prisoner make, but not a Slave. Shall Man assume a property in Man?
Lay on the moral Will a withering ban? Shame that our laws at distance should protect Enormities, which they at home reject!
"Slaves cannot breathe in England"-a proud boast! And yet a mockery! if, from coast to coast, Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil, For the poor Many, measured out by rules Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools, That to an Idol, falsely called "the Wealth Of Nations," sacrifice a People's health, Body and mind and soul; a thirst so keen Is ever urging on the vast machine
Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels
The Power least prized is that which thinks and feels.
Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age, And all the heavy or light vassalage
Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit Our varying moods, on human kind or brute,
"T were well in little, as in great, to pause,
Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws.
There are to whom even garden, grove, and field, Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield;
Who would not lightly violate the grace
The lowliest flower possesses in its place;
Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive,
Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give.
SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT FROM THE PENCIL OF F. STONE.
BEGUILED into forgetfulness of care Due to the day's unfinished task, of pen Or book regardless, and of that fair scene In Nature's prodigality displayed
Before my window, oftentimes and long
I gaze upon a Portrait whose mild gleam Of beauty never ceases to enrich
The common light; whose stillness charms the air, Or seems to charm it, into like repose;
Whose silence, for the pleasure of the ear, Surpasses sweetest music. There she sits With emblematic purity attired
In a white vest, white as her marble neck Is, and the pillar of the throat would be But for the shadow by the drooping chin Cast into that recess the tender shade
The shade and light, both there and every where, And through the very atmosphere she breathes,
Broad, clear, and toned harmoniously, with skill
That might from nature have been learnt in the hour When the lone Shepherd sees the morning spread Upon the mountains. Look at her, whoe'er Thou be, that kindling with a poet's soul
Hast loved the painter's true Promethean craft Intensely from Imagination take
The treasure, what mine eyes behold see thou, Even though the Atlantic Ocean roll between.
A silver line, that runs from brow to crown, And in the middle parts the braided hair, Just serves to show how delicate a soil The golden harvest grows in; and those eyes, Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky
Whose azure depth their colour emulates,
Must needs be conversant with upward looks, Prayer's voiceless service; but now, seeking nought And shunning nought, their own peculiar life Of motion they renounce, and with the head Partake its inclination towards earth
In humble grace, and quiet pensiveness
Caught at the point where it stops short of sadness.
Offspring of soul-bewitching Art, make me Thy confidant! say, whence derived that air
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